


the perception of an external stimulus where none exists

by saltyfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10.19 coda, Episode Tag, M/M, Missing Scene, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:19:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3806758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyfeathers/pseuds/saltyfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He won, right? He grappled with his own conscience, and he beat the suicide spell. Great. Awesome.  Now where’s the exit?</p>
            </blockquote>





	the perception of an external stimulus where none exists

**Author's Note:**

> in case you didn't see it in the tags, WARNING FOR DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE (this is pretty inline with the kind of stuff that happened in the episode, if you'd like a benchmark)

“Benny” crumbles to dust when Dean stabs him through the chest, and he stands around expectantly, waiting for purgatory to melt away and bring him back to the real world.

He waits.

And he waits.

Nothing happens, and he raises an eyebrow.

He won, right? He grappled with his own conscience, and he beat the suicide spell. Great. Awesome.  Now where’s the exit?

As if on cue, he hears the subtle displacement of air behind him, and turns to see-

“Cas,” he says. It’s the Cas he remembers from purgatory, bearded up and wearing his old trench coat over the hospital scrubs. His eyes are dark, his face and clothes caked in dirt. “Fake Cas,” he amends.

Cas shrugs, and lifts an arm out to the side, completely blasé. Without even looking, his palm glows its signature smitey glow, and through the bushes to his right, Dean hears a squeal. A matching glow appears alongside it, then subsides.

“A vampire,” Cas informs him mildly, “Guess they’re on your mind.”

“Well, I did just kill a whole nest on my own the other day.”

“I know,” Cas says. “I’m a manifestation of your subconscious. I was there.”

“Riiight,” Dean says, thrown a little off balance. He wonders what it says about him that the first thing his mind conjures up when it comes to Cas is him casually smiting monsters with barely a flick of the wrist. It was always a trait Dean admired in him. Plus, it looks badass as hell. And potentially gets Dean’s blood flowing and his heart pumping. “Hope you got front row seats, anyway.”

Cas takes a step forward, still leaving a good couple feet between them.

Dean clears his throat.

“Still working the peach fuzz,” he continues, “Nice.”

Cas cocks his head.

“I’m a manifestation of your subconscious,” he repeats. “I appear how you want to see me.”

“I dunno about that, I think I like clean shaven Cas better.”

Cas gives him a very in-character look of consternation, and Dean wonders just how well his mind has catalogued Cas’ subtleties over the last however many years.

“Well you’re also currently hallucinating purgatory. It wouldn’t make sense to see me as anything but what I was in this place,” he explains. His expression softens out. “I don’t think you want to associate “clean shaven” me with what happened here.”

“You don’t think?” Dean asks. “Which means _I_ don’t think.”

“Okay, _you_ don’t want to associate “clean shaven” Cas with purgatory,” he allows, hands up.

“Why?”

Cas says nothing.

“Hey, you’re my brain, pal. You answer to me.”

Cas still says nothing, a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Okay, whatever, why are you here? I’m not gonna kill myself, happy?”

“Yes,” Cas says firmly, and though none of this is even fucking real, Dean’s cheeks heat.  Cas takes a couple steps forward, though not close enough to touch. He watches Dean in that careful, considering way Cas always does. “One of the most ingrained visual oddities in pop culture is that of an angel and a devil sitting on one’s shoulder,” he says, “Which I’m sure you’re familiar with.”

“Says my brain to me.”

“Think of it like that,” Cas says, as if he didn’t hear Dean’s jibe. Maybe Dean’s just so used to snarking at himself that even _he_ doesn’t listen to it anymore. “You already had the devil, so.”

Dean snorts.

“Oh, well, ain’t that cute,” he says, tapping on his own head, gesturing at the forest around him. “Nice one, brain.”

Cas looks at him, amusement draining out of his expression. He watches Dean sadly, and Dean has to remind himself that this _isn’t_ Cas. Regardless, the urge to move forward, to comfort with touch, is still exceptionally strong.

“Okay, so, what, are you here to tell me to keep fighting, or whatever?” he asks. “I already came to that conclusion on my own, no thanks to you.”

Cas shakes his head. “This was just a spell,” he says. “Playing on your subconscious. On your fears and insecurities. When it wears off and you come back to yourself, you’ll still have the Mark. You’ll still consider suicide a feasible option. A last ditch attempt to protect innocent people from yourself, if Sam and Cas aren’t able to deliver that final blow.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the angel?” Dean snaps, jaw set. His chest feels tight. “I can’t kill myself, anyway,” He holds up the arm with the Mark. “I already explained that to your other brain-buddy.”  

“You’d find a way,” Cas says softly. “Getting stabbed by an angel blade is a relatively clean way to go. This time, you’d make sure the Mark couldn’t put you back together.” His brow furrows in distress. “You’ve thought about cutting your arm off,” he says. “Going into the bunker’s garage, finding a saw, cauterizing the wound-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waves him off, and Cas falls silent. “So what? It would be a solution. Besides, I’ve never _seriously_ considered chopping off my own damn arm-”

“You won the battle today, Dean,” Cas interrupts harshly, “not the war. You know that.”

Dean clicks his jaw shut, crossing his arms.

“You should know better than anyone else what kind of crap I’ve got stowed,” he says. “Sometimes, I’m gonna think crappy things. That’s how it works.”

Cas takes another step.

“It doesn’t have to,” he says. “You’re quick to cite Sam and Cas as the people holding you here, but when the time comes for you to actually act on it? You don’t.”

“That’s fucking unfair and you know-”

“You’ve been relatively open with Sam,” Cas acquiesces. “Lately, anyway, though there’s not much to be said for the other three decades you’ve been alive.” When Dean opens his mouth indignantly, Cas holds up a hand. “And you even manage to express concern for Cas without swallowing your tongue or making it into a joke. But there’s more to it than that.”

Dean puts a hand over his face.

“Why is my brain telling me things I already know,” he says to the dirt. In front of him, Cas sighs.

“You need to let people be there for you, Dean,” he says firmly.

Dean scoffs, scrubbing a hand over his jaw in agitation. “Yeah?” he asks harshly, “So I’m, what, gonna go up to Sam and casually talk about how I’ve thought about throwing myself off a cliff once or twice? How I’ve been thinking about setting my car on fire with me at the wheel, hoping this damn Mark won’t have me up and walking around as some fucking melted skeleton demon?” This time he’s the one to take a step closer as he jabs a finger at Fake Cas. “Or, what, go up to Cas and ask for a hug because I’m just. So. Sad?”

Cas looks at him mildly.

“You could,” he says. “Those are viable options.”

“Shut the fuck up, Cas.” He makes a disgusted sound. “Shut up, _me_ ,” he corrects.  

Cas drifts closer.

“You may as well make use of your time here,” he says, gesturing down at himself. “Say what you’ve always wanted to say to Cas. Better than practising in a mirror, don’t you think?” 

Dean doesn’t know why he’s trying to play his own mind, figures it comes from a lifelong attempt of lying to himself about almost everything. No matter the reason, he squares his shoulders and grits his teeth.

“I’d rather talk to Sam,” he says.  “If I have to choose.”

Cas’ expression doesn’t change.

“You can’t,” he says simply. “Sam wasn’t in purgatory with you. Benny was. Cas was.” Dean is all too aware of how close Fake Cas is standing, and he can feel it messing with him, because he’s stood this close to Real Cas many times, and his brain is using the memories to recreate that feeling as accurately as possible. He feels that familiar tension in the air, how it always seems to linger between him and Cas.

“You’d rather talk about your suicidal tendencies to your brother than admit to your best friend you’re in love with him?” Cas asks.

“Yeah, well, I’m betting only one of those ends the way I want it to,” Dean says, “And it ain’t the one with Cas.”

“How _do_ those conversations end?” Cas asks quietly.

“The one with Sam ends the way all serious conversations with Sam end,” Dean says. “I either annoy him into shutting up or neither one of us knows what to say next and it just kind of-” he makes a squiggly gesture with his hand, “fades away.” He shrugs. “What can I say. I’m comfortable with that. I know how those conversations work since I’ve been having them my entire life.”

“And Cas’?” Cas asks. “How would that one end.”

“Badly,” Dean says immediately. “Awkwardly. Terribly. Not Good… ly.”

“Why?”

“Uh, for about a million different reasons? C’mon, brain, you know as well as I do what the deal is there.”

“You’re afraid,” Cas says.

“Damn right,” Dean asserts. At least that he can admit. “The things I’d say to Cas… I can’t even say those words out loud,” he says.

“It’s a good thing you wouldn’t be saying them out loud, then,” Cas says, looking around pointedly. “You’d be thinking them in your head.”

 “Yeah well I can barely do that either,” Dean says, mostly just to be difficult. Man, he really hates himself.

“I’m in love with you, Dean,” Fake Cas says without any warning.

It trips Dean up. It’s all wrong, because it’s not real. But those words coming out of that mouth with that voice, and Dean has to swallow tightly.

“Stop it,” he says.

“I want to kiss you,” he says. “I want to sleep in the same bed as you and wake up next to you in the morning. I want to argue about curtain colors and fabrics and what kind of tile we should get for the bathroom-”

Dean shoves Cas backwards hard, but he only leans with the movement, not even having to take a step to catch his balance. So Dean opts for his next best option and glares. He still has Benny’s blade with him, but he’s not sure he can even… even if this Cas isn’t real he doesn’t want to use it.

“You need to stop,” Dean says lowly, “Now.”

“Why is it so hard to believe Cas doesn’t want that as well?” Cas asks. “You’re not blind. You see the way he looks at you.”

“Yeah, but I’m not an idiot, either,” Dean snaps. “Curtains? I mean, fuck off.” He shakes his head, trying to clear the sudden influx of domestic thoughts. Cas alternating between orange juice and coffee in the mornings. Cas deciding what movie to watch for movie night. Cas just making space for himself in the bunker, like he already has in Dean’s life. This is the kind of shit he thinks about late at night when he’s at least six stations past rational thought. “Cas is an angel, okay? He’s got shit to do, Johns to baptize, whatever.”

“He’s trying to save you,” Cas says. “You’re currently the ‘shit to do’.”

“Exactly. And however this Mark thing ends, eventually I won’t be on Cas’ to-do list anymore, and he’ll flutter off again without so much as a postcard.”

“Maybe you don’t give him enough credit.”

“I give that guy nothing _but_ credit,” Dean mumbles, and Cas smirks.

“Wonder why,” he says.

Dean grumbles.

“I thought you were supposed to be the angel on my shoulder,” he says bitterly. “You’re doing an awfully bad job.”

“My advice is to tell your family you love them,” Cas says, rolling his eyes. “Try to let yourself be happy. Is that good enough for you?”

“I could’ve gotten that off those shitty brochures they give out at gas stations.”

Cas’ eyes literally spark at that, glowing bright blue for just a moment.

“You put gas in your car to make it go, Dean. It’s simple. Maybe getting your life advice from a gas station brochure isn’t that bad of an idea. Put gas in your tank. Keep going.”

“That sounds fucking miserable.”

Fake Cas, obviously having had enough of Dean (aka himself) stomps forward and takes Dean’s face in his hands, pulling him in and kissing him.

“Uhhhh,” Dean says loudly into the kiss, because _who_ exactly is he kissing here? Is he making out with himself? Is he making out with anyone? He’s certainly never kissed Cas in real life, so the feeling of a full on beard rasping against his face is strange, to say the least, and his mind is definitely fabricating this part of the proceedings. Eventually, he relaxes into it, because who the fuck cares, right? He’s had dreams like this, of pulling Cas in by the lapels and finally closing the distance between them. This isn’t so different.

He shoves Cas’ coat out of the way to rest his hands on Cas’ hips, shoving them under his scrubs top to get at the warm skin beneath. He feels one of Cas’ hands snake up and tangle in his hair, while the other remains firmly curved around his side, long fingers pressing into the skin there.

“I love you,” he mumbles into the kiss, because he can’t help it. He wants to see what the words taste like on his tongue. Cas does too, apparently, since his own tongue winds its way into Dean’s mouth, kissing him, so incredibly _warm_. Dean groans into the kiss, pulls Cas closer to him so that there’s absolutely no space left between them. He kisses Cas breathless and then some, because he doesn’t have to breath in this place. At some point, Cas lifts his hand from Dean’s waist to smite something else, but Dean doesn’t even know what it is, too focused on kissing a line down Cas’ neck and exploring his torso beneath his scrubs.

“I’m not the Cas you should be saying that to,” he eventually comes back with, and no, no, he’s right. Dean’s hands stop where they are, and he slowly takes them back for himself, arms falling helplessly to his sides. He breaks away from Fake Cas, stealing one more kiss before he goes because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance to kiss Real Cas. Or pick out curtains with him. Or make him coffee in the morning.

Cas is watching him carefully, eyes just as dark and endless as they were back in real purgatory.  Dean had nightmares about those eyes for weeks after he came back from there alone, back when he thought that he hadn’t held on tight enough. And of course, after the truth came out, he dreamt about Cas shoving his hand away. About him not being enough to make Cas want to come back.  

Dean straightens up, only belatedly realizing he’s dropped Benny’s blade. He leaves it where it is.

“I know,” he says. “We both know there’s a lot of things I should probably say to a lot of people.”

“There are,” Cas says gravely.

“Maybe I’ll say them,” Dean says. “Eventually.”

“That would probably be a good idea,” Cas says. “You can’t live in your own head, Dean, no matter how much easier it is to kiss me than the real deal.”

Dean sighs, looking off into the empty darkness of the forest.

“This isn’t my happy place,” he says. “It’s easy to convince myself it is, but it’s not.” He digs his toe into the dirt, dropping his eyes to the ground. “Choosing curtains sounds nice,” he mumbles. “Buying groceries sounds nice.”

“The post office?” Cas suggests, underpinnings of amusement in his voice. “The DMV?”

“Fuck. Yeah, I guess. I don’t know.” He hates thinking about this shit. It’s nice at the start, but he always ends up convincing himself it’s impossible, a destination he’ll never reach.

Cas’ palms cup his face.

“What I said about the car, Dean, I meant it. Keep going. Take someone you love along with you. Maybe they’ll even remind you to like yourself along the way.”

Dean leans his forehead against Cas’.

“This was supposed to be a suicide spell, I thought,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think I’d get talked off a bridge.”

“You’ve been fighting for the people you love your entire life,” Cas responds, just as quietly. “I suppose it’s time someone fought for you, even if that person has to be, well… you.” Dean can feel him smile. “But you don’t have to be the only one, Dean. You’re not alone.”

Dean licks his lips. “Thanks, Cas,” he says. Then, “Thanks… me.”

The world dissolves around him.

***

Sam practically bleeds out. They nab the book. Dean and Sam kind of talk. It’s not extensive, but Dean figures it’s better than nothing.

Sam goes out once they get back to the bunker, promising Dean he’s fine, so Dean sits in his bedroom and fiddles with the stray threads of his shirt until he can’t do it anymore. He grabs his phone off the nightstand. He scrolls down to Cas’ number, and types out:

**heya cas**

Cas’ need for a cell phone is limited now that he’s got his grace back, but Dean figures he’ll check his messages eventually. It’s not a world-shatteringly important text or anything. Just to check in. Just to make sure everything is as okay as it can be under the circumstances.

Dean just wants to talk to the Real Cas.

He doubts he’s going to the say the words he should. It’ll undoubtedly take more than one heated conversation with himself to ever get up the nerve to actually say anything.

In the meantime, though, he’ll keep going. They all will.    


End file.
